Where You'll Make Your Real Friends
by whatstuffequal
Summary: Before going to Hogwarts, Harry meets a friend. Male!Slytherin!Reader x Harry Potter. Slow burn. Third person perspective.
1. Chapter 1

A small eight year old boy sat curled up in a small space of his cupboard. His eyelids burned pinkish though he managed to prevent bitter tears from slipping out. He silently lied to himself that his stupid cousin Dudley's punches didn't hurt and that his bigoted Uncle Vernon's screams were absolutely tolerable. He desperately sought for sweet relief from the hurt, fruitlessly holding onto his self-inflicted imaginings. But, the darkness and smallness of his cupboard was suffocating.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He focused on keeping the rhythm of his breathing. The ache of his bruises dulled and faded into the background of his mind.

However, his metronome breathing missed a beat when he noticed a glowing dot in his cupboard. It appeared very distinct in the dark, and the boy was curious. Cautious yet almost entranced, he moved toward the small dot of light to see that it was a firefly. The boy wondered what this could mean.

Strangely, the firefly held out the tiniest scrap of paper, and, as if by magic, paper slightly enlarged when he held it, pinched between his thumb and index. The boy could now see that it was folded. With his curiosity heightened, he clumsily opened up the folded paper in the dim light near the glowing insect. He read a single word.

'Hello.'

He stared at the simple greeting. The handwriting was very simple. Not too neat and not too messy. It looked very average.

Excited, his mind raced with colorful thoughts as to who sent this message. Noticing that the firefly seems to be waiting for him, he fumbled around his cupboard to find an old broken pencil. He wrote sloppily in an empty space below the concise salutations.

'Hello. My name is Harry Potter. Who are you?'

Having no one to really confide in, he was immensely interested to who this stranger was. Carefully, he folded the paper back to how it was and gave it back to the waiting firefly. The paper subtly shrunk back to its previous miniature size. Soon, the tiny glow of light disappeared into one of the small cracks in his walls.

Though he tried to keep his expectations low, he couldn't help but feel a fizz of happiness at the thought of someone wanting to talk to him.

Ignoring the repulsively deafening footsteps of the Dursleys, Harry Potter laid in his compact mattress to ponder while he waited to be let out.

He waited for an indistinguishable amount of time. The feelings of isolation settled back in. Uncertain hours passed on and on as he waited to either be let out or to receive another written note. Just then, the same glow of a firefly poked its way into the room. Harry sprung up, suddenly overflowing with excitement. They actually responded, he thought happily. Again, he reached for a tiny piece of folded paper and watched it expand in his hands. The note read:

'Harry Potter? I've seen your name in a history book. Do you happen to have a lightning bolt scar on your forehead?

Anyways, I'm happy that I finally got to meet you. Even if you turn out not to be the famous Harry Potter.

I hope we can talk more. My name is-'

Obnoxious sounds and voices came from outside. It seems like it's dinner time. Harry quickly hid the note under his mattress as he heard a fat hand on the flimsy door of his cupboard. Despite being sorely disappointed from the abrupt halt in getting to know possible new friend, he hastily put together a neutral countenance for the sake of avoiding Uncle Vernon from questioning him.

Fortunately, he was released by only listening to his uncle's scolding and directions. Tonight, he was tasked with washing the dishes, both clean and dirty. He sighed but soon regretted it. Vernon shot him a nasty glare. I'd better get to work now so I can write back as soon as possible, thought Harry.

Through mindless scrubbing, he thought about the note. Although the contents of the letter were a little perplexing, he was simply glad he was able to read quickly enough to get the name of who wrote to him. [First name] [Last name]. Harry pondered the name, imagining the sound of its pronunciation. He mused over the knowledge that someone was writing to him, wanting to know about him. It made him feel like he was cared for.

The boy hurried through washing the dishes so he can finally write back. He felt pretty disappointed that he couldn't write a response sooner. But, he also felt a little worried as he headed toward his cupboard. It was already midnight, and Harry wasn't sure if the firefly was still there to deliver his message.

Anxiously, he opened up the door to his small room. Then, as if all of his problems washed away, the small dot of light floated toward him as he entered. Flicking on a dim lightbulb, Harry reached under his mattress, hoping the note was still there. Soon enough, his thin fingertips brushed against the surface of the paper. Holding it out, he faced the peculiar words addressing him.

'Do you happen to have a lightning bolt scar on your forehead?'

He lightly brushed his fingers along the zigzags of his scar. Harry thought hard, how does this stranger know this? Is it possible that he really is somehow famous? He was puzzled over the words.

He replied by writing his confused thoughts on the extra space on the note. His pencil marks appeared faded in contrast to his new friend's rich black ink.

After a while into writing, only then did he notice that the paper never seemed to run out of room.

'I'm happy to meet you too, [First name].

I wasn't aware my name was in history books. However, I do have a lightning bolt scar on my forehead. But, I don't think I'm anyone famous. Everyone at school avoids me, and my family hates me. Maybe I'm just someone who's similar to the famous Harry Potter. Who is he anyways?

Also, you said that you finally get to meet me, whoever I was. Why did you want to meet me? And, how did you know I was here?'

He began to fold the paper back up again but hesitated. It's quite late to be sending a letter to someone. It must be half past twelve by now. He glanced at the glowing firefly which was now resting on his thumb. Better late than never, Harry thought. He continued folding the paper and handed it to the luminous bug. The note shrunk back to a manageable size for the tiny flying insect and disappeared into the wall along with the bug.

Gracelessly, he let gravity pull him down to his old creaky mattress. Now too exhausted to think, his heavy eyelids lulled him away from conscious reality.

* * *

A figure was hunched over a textbook much too big for his physical stature. Despite the time being a ways past midnight, the boy unwaveringly studied as the darkness under his eyes grew heavier and heavier. Finally, the boy decided that he should take a break. He removed his stiff body away from his desk chair and left the textbook open.

As he took a step toward his bed, he caught sight of a firefly he had charmed. His eyes widened as far as his sleepiness allowed him and eagerly picked the tiny scrap of paper from the bug and sent it off. The paper grew to the size of a standard-sized printer sheet when it was unfolded. The parchment has increased in size a bit, the boy pleasantly noted.

He sat back at his desk and read the ashy pencil writing. After reading however, he was a little taken aback and unsure. Does Harry Potter not know who he is? It's very highly unlikely for a boy to have the same name and have the lightning scar on the very place where it's said to be. Also, is he not safe in his home and school environment? These thoughts ran through the boy's head in a flurry of mixed emotions. What should he do?

He took a deep breath and looked at the clock. A quarter to one. He decided he should answer Harry's questions clearly and fully. He brought out a new piece of parchment and estimated that he can probably have the letter ready in about half an hour.

Ambitious as he was, the overwhelming need for sleep took over as he spent the remains of the night using the ample pages of a textbook as a pillow. In his hand, he clutched an unfinished letter to a potentially new friend.


	2. Chapter 2

AithusaRose and Guest: Thank you for the positive feedback

* * *

The morning arrived far too soon for Harry. He had tossed and turned throughout the night, thinking about his new friend. He worried. He worried about being repulsive and freakish. He remembered Dudley taunting him for not being able to keep a friend.

The boy sighed into the darkness of his cupboard. His anxiety kept mounting as he was keenly aware of the absence of a note. Perhaps [First name] didn't like him after all. Or maybe he was upset at how Harry wrote to him so late at night. Maybe he blew his one chance to make a friend.

He frowned pensively.

Eventually, the time came for Aunt Petunia to pull the boy out of his tiny compartment. Her agitating voice shrilled on about his morning routine, but he only feigned attention to her words. His mind was too overcome with worries. At least he knew his morning chores well enough to do them without much instruction from his aunt.

He silently breezed through his usual routine of setting the table, cooking breakfast, washing dishes, dusting the living room and taking out the trash. He conducted himself almost robotically as he preoccupied his brain with what-ifs.

In a fuzzy haze, he forced himself to continue going through the day. He walked to his first class of the day, though he did not quite remember what else had happened. Many events since he got up for the morning seemed to be smearing into an abstract blur. Had he really been that out of it? Perhaps it is not that surprising. The boy had barely slept and was going through an emotional crisis. He really did not want to think about life at the moment.

Stoically, he swam through a routinely reality in a lost sort of way, as if he was experiencing his first existential crisis.

But somehow, despite his despondency, a small hope quietly nagged Harry that he probably shouldn't worry too much. [First name] probably just didn't have a chance to write back to him yet. With the teacher's intoned speech in the background, the young boy cautiously considered less negative what-ifs.

After a good thirty minutes of sitting in class, not really listening to the lecture, the bell for lunch clanged, accompanied by the voices and hurriedly shuffling feet of abrasive children.

Harry soon found himself escaping the loud halls full of his chattering peers and stalked off to the back of the school building. Dudley and his friends should be looking for a person-shaped punching bag by now.

Unfortunately, Harry probably could have searched for a better hiding spot. He heard the all too familiar sounds of his cousin's whiny voice nearby. As silently as he could, the small boy slowly stepped away from the potential threat. Quietly, he told himself. Quietly. His heart gave a nervous jump when he saw a part of Dudley's fat arm peek out from the corner.

In an anxious burst of excitement, the Harry quickly scuttled off to scavenge for a different and more isolated area.

* * *

[First name], a peculiar boy, strolled by the perimeters of St. Grogory's Primary School. Though he was within the campus borders as a prospective student, he was hoping to find a certain someone. He sighed as he absentmindedly wandered to a quieter place.

His brows were furrowed in thought as he sifted through what he should say or do if he could find Harry in this Muggle school. Fuming internally, he stared at the ground he was walking on, still thinking and strategizing.

The reason for the boy's frustration was that he felt furious with himself for falling asleep and thus failing to send back a letter. Failing to be apt in communications is certainly not a great first impression.

After a few long seconds, he managed to tear himself away from his self-depreciating thoughts. But, at that moment, his eyes locked onto a pair of tired yet bewildered emerald irises behind a sorry excuse for glasses. Steadily, he scanned the rest of his face and noticed the oddly shaped scar on the other's forehead.

He felt his breath stuck in his throat. Ignoring any anxieties, he managed to force himself to speak, "Harry?"

"..Yes?"

"I'm, uh, sorry for not writing back to you right away. I only came here to apologize. I thought I should just write another note for you, but.." He glanced at the school. "I think it's better if you read them while you're alone."

A mix of confusion and cautiousness settled into the smaller boy's green eyes. He was not entirely sure of who this stranger was, but from what he was speaking about, he had a some kind of guess.

"Are you [First name] [Last name]?"

The boy in question felt a small wave of relief. He remembers me and doesn't seem particularly upset at me yet, he thought. "Yes, that's me. I'm sorry for not writing back. I.. I fell asleep while writing."

"Oh, no, that's alright. I'm actually very happy that you're here." Harry bit his lip as he thought of his more dramatic scenarios. No, he silently scolded himself, I shouldn't think about that. Instead, he asked a question he has had since receiving the other boy's first note. "I still want to know how you knew where I was." Another question came up in Harry's mind. "And how did you know I was here?"

[First name]'s eyes became thoughtful and was silent for a moment. Then a slight smile grew on his face. "For a short answer, I found your magic."

" _Magic?_ " Disbelief and uncertainty flooded the small dark-haired boy, but they were soon replaced with memories of unexplainable events. He knew that he had a strange history of unnatural things happening around him. One example could be the way [First name] sent him notes. How else could paper expand and shrink?

The boy gazed into Harry's green eyes with peculiarity.

"Yes, of course magic." He spoke as if it was the most natural thing in existence. "Do you.. not know about magic? I mean, you're Harry Potter, right? You have the scar and everything." He quickly bit his tongue to stop confusing Harry with his words, but his eyebrows were scrunched up in disbelief. How does the person who defeated the Dark Lord not know about magic?

The faint sound of a bell rang from the school.

Harry's new friend placed a gentle hand on the smaller boy's shoulder probably meant to be a reassuring gesture.

"I'll answer your questions. I'll write to you today. I promise. But, focus on your classes for now." And with that, the peculiar boy led Harry back to the school's crowded hallways and slipped out of sight.

Despite what he was told to do, Harry couldn't focus on anything but the prospect of magic. He sighed as he settled himself in a desk, ready to tune out the educator's lecture.

* * *

The supposed prospective student made his way toward the school's office, with the occasional stop from some curious Muggles. He put forward a polite countenance and pleasantly answered some probing questions from his peers. Continuing his way to his destination, he finally cracked open the office door. He poked his head inside to find his host guardian, Ms. Bell, comfortably waiting for him with a sweet smile on her elderly face.

The boy spoke up, "I'm done looking around."

"That's good," said a kind-looking office faculty member, "Are you liking it here?"

The boy offered a small smile. "Yeah, I guess so."

Pleasant farewells exchanged as the visitors left the campus. As soon as they were in the car, Ms. Bell inquired with innocent curiosity, "Is there any reason in particular why you wanted to see this school?"

"The students there seem interesting." The boy responded very matter-of-factly. Despite the vagueness of the answer, it was true in a sense. He was very much interested in discovering another resident with magic.

Unfortunately, he was slightly dismayed that said resident was ignorant of the existence of magic. No matter, he thought, I'll just tell him whatever I know about magic.

Ms. Bell drove on in a pleasant silence as [First name] stared out into the bright afternoon sky. Daydreaming, he thought of why he was studying in a Muggle world. Almost immediately, he recalled father's advice: Understanding different worlds, that is, the Muggles and Wizarding folk, could expand your profits and influence. He chewed the inside of his cheek thinking about this. He knows most people would call his father's logic exploitative and selfish. But, the [Last name] family line has already established a successful history of being "opportunistic," which may be a prettier word for exploitative.

His father's thinking could be useful, but the boy was chiefly motivated by simple curiosity. Nonetheless, his family accepted his desire to study the Muggle world, perhaps for their own reasons. After learning the basics of the fundamental fields of magic in his family's estate, he was sent off to study Muggle subjects under the care of his father's non-magical acquaintance, Ms. Bell.

Ms. Bell was ignorant, of course, of the [Last name]s being a family of wizards. But, she was polite enough not to delve too deep into concealed information. [First name] just had to keep up the secrecy.

The boy found his way back to reality when Ms. Bell pulled up into the driveway. He stepped toward the small house of his host. His hand was itching to write that letter he promised to Harry. He refused to let his new friend down. He quickly thanked Ms. Bell and headed straight to his room.

His room was small but sufficient enough to hide the magical textbooks and wand he brought with him. He shuffled out an ordinary piece of paper and placed a variant Shrinking Charm on it. A brief feeling of pride glowed within him every time he performed a perfected spell.

Picking up a pen, he wrote:

'Dear Harry,

I'm glad I got to see you. I'm sorry we did not have enough time to talk more. But, I'm sure my host parent will allow me to visit you sometime.

Before answering your previous questions, I'm guessing that you don't know about magic. Just believe that magic exists and everything will make sense. You're Harry Potter after all! I think you'd be obligated to know about the wizarding world.

Anyways, from what I've read, Potter was the one that made the Dark Lord disappear. (By the way, the Dark Lord was a powerful dark wizard who had recently passed.). Books say you were just an infant during that time, but you got a scar shaped like a lightning bolt on your forehead from the Dark Lord. That's the main information that recent history says about you. I mean, I'm pretty sure that you're Harry Potter.

When I was trying out a tracing type of spell, your magic was easy to find. It seemed to be very strong and different in a way. I guess everyone's magic is different, but I was really interested in finding another non-Muggle so I thought I'd find out who's magic I traced. That's how I first found you and sent that firefly with the note. I did the same thing today to visit your school, but I think I should take a break from doing that spell. Right now, I think it's too advanced for my level.

You can ask me questions about the magic world…'

His hand halted as a concerning thought ran through his mind. He thought of Harry's words in his last note: 'Everyone at school avoids me, and my family hates me.'

How can I subtly figure out his situation, the boy wondered, I can't just blatantly ask. That'd be too bold.

He brainstormed and picked out what words he should use. He was absolutely determined not to scare away his new friend.

Finally, the nervous muscles in his hand awkwardly spurred to motion.

'You can ask me questions about the magic world

If you need anything else to talk about besides magic, I'm here.

[First name]'

His eyes narrowed in uncertainty at the new sentence he had just written. Did he sound too weird? Are his words too awkward? Should he write more? Such questions harassed his mind, but, with some effort, he pushed away his anxious thoughts. He had a letter to deliver after all.

He folded the now elongated paper into an odd-looking rectangle shape and watched it shrink as he beckoned an ant to hold the letter. A firefly may be too difficult to see in the afternoon's daylight. With a flick of a hand, the tiny insect crawled off to deliver the letter.

The boy stared at the slow pace of the ant. He wondered if he should have mentioned the use of owls despite the bravado of the sight of them in the Muggle world.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry somehow survived the rest of the day at school while thinking about the fantastic notion of the existence of magic. He knew Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia absolutely abhorred just the thought of it. They constantly told him that there was no such thing.

But what if they were lying, Harry thought. He wanted to believe his new friend. Actually, he already believed him. That would explain why odd things happen around him.

Green eyes locked onto the brilliant blue void of the sky. It would have been peaceful if it had not been for Dudley's excessive annoyances. Harry was seated in the car riding home, ignoring the pure hate for him coming from his uncle and cousin. If they knew what he was thinking, they would surely try to kill him.

Suddenly, he felt something tickle the knuckle of his thumb. Glancing down, his eyes meet with an ant crawling on his hand. Just as he was about to flick it away, he noticed the ant's peculiar behaviour. It looked like it was trying to give him-

Harry's heart almost skipped a beat as he saw a tiny piece of paper the ant was holding. This had to be [First name]'s doing. He bit his lip to hold back his excitement and snuck a look at Dudley and Uncle Vernon. Fortunately, they were not paying him much attention.

The small boy tenderly cupped the ant in his hand, eyes flickering back to the other two occupants of the car. Gently, the boy led the ant to hide somewhere in his baggy clothes. Harry knew he had to read it later, remembering [First name]'s advice to read his messages alone. Just wait a little longer, he reminded himself. Although his curiosity urged him to figure out his mysterious life, he knew that being reckless might cause his and [First name]'s efforts to be in vain.

The sight of the Dursleys' front door had never been so welcome. Harry simply needed to do his chores then retreat to his hideout in his cupboard to read his letter. As nonchalantly as possible, he went straight to work on cleaning the house once he stepped out of his uncle's car. Don't mess up, Harry constantly thought to himself. Luckily, the Dursleys paid no attention to him and carried on with their life as if he didn't exist. Except, he was the one keeping their house looking presentable.

With pleasant surprise, Harry actually managed to finish everything a bit earlier than usual. Perhaps his motivation really was that strong.

He quietly surveyed the living room. Uncle Vernon was reading a newspaper, Aunt Petunia was watching the news, and Dudley was playing with his countless toys.. as usual. Nonetheless, with everyone preoccupied, he hid in his tiny cupboard without anyone questioning him.

Finally, Harry opened the letter.

'Dear Harry,

I'm glad I got to see you. I'm sorry we did not have enough time to talk more. But, I'm sure my host parent will allow me to visit you sometime.

Before answering your previous questions, I'm guessing that you don't know about magic. Just believe that magic exists and everything will make sense. You're Harry Potter after all! I think you'd be obligated to know about the wizarding world.

Anyways, from what I've read, Potter was the one that made the Dark Lord disappear. (By the way, the Dark Lord was a powerful dark wizard who had recently passed.). Books say you were just an infant during that time, but you got a scar shaped like a lightning bolt on your forehead from the Dark Lord. That's the main information that recent history says about you. I mean, I'm pretty sure that you're Harry Potter.

When I was trying out a tracing type of spell, your magic was easy to find. It seemed to be very strong and different in a way. I guess everyone's magic is different, but I was really interested in finding another non-Muggle so I thought I'd find out who's magic I traced. That's how I first found you and sent that firefly with the note. I did the same thing today to visit your school, but I think I should take a break from doing that spell. Right now, I think it's too advanced for my level.

You can ask me questions about the magic world.

If you need anything else to talk about besides magic, I'm here.

[First name]'

How thoughtful, Harry mused. He was easily overwhelmed by the content and meaning of this letter. He traced the scar on his forehead and reread the letter. Why didn't I know this, he thought. Uncle Vernon always said that he got that scar from a car crash with his parents. Did his parents really die in that car crash? Or were they involved with the 'Dark Lord?' Maybe [First name] has answers. Harry wasn't sure, but it almost seemed like [First name] cared about him. Just the thought of that made him feel comforted.

He picked up a pencil and began to write.


End file.
